Plagues in Autumn
by Emeraldjewel
Summary: Prelude to RE4. Villages in the middle of Spain don't interest Umbrella much, unless kids start to go missing and an excavation for parasites begins. Wesker sends a handful of agents to gather information months before Ada Wong's mission for the sample.
1. There's Something About Sherry

**Disclaimer:** Resident Evil and the characters associated with it belong to Capcom. Any supporting characters that make an appearance in this story that are not seen in the franchise belong entirely to me.

**Plagues in Autumn**

_**A prelude to Resident Evil 4**_

_"In the morning, the government bombed Raccoon City in an attempt to stop the viral outbreak. This was, of course, their feigned reason… Later, Claire left to Europe to find her lost brother Chris, and Leon joined forces with an underground anti-Umbrella organization."_

_"Sherry is safe in our hands. I would never underestimate Birkin. There's something about this little girl…"_

- October 1, 1998. Albert Wesker's report.

_

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**Chapter One: There's Something About Sherry

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**

September 15, 2004

It had been nearly six years since all of that, but she was never able to shake away her nightmares. Her subconscious always won the battle, despite all of her efforts to erase her past. Her fear of walking corpses and monsters barely showed when she was awake, but was clearly evident as she tossed and turned in her sleep almost every night, sometimes crying out for a parent who would never come and a 'Claire' who had once saved her from the monsters, but would never be able to save her from her nightmares.

The dreams had a pattern, but not even that would be enough to help her, even if she knew what to expect – running helplessly through a police station, rotting zombies moaning for her flesh, tyrants, her father especially… he had always been the worst part of her nightmare. Running and hiding, running and hiding. The G-virus slowly creeping through her little veins…

…but the dreams would always end the same.

Her father looming over her, no longer her father, but actually an abomination of his own creation (sometimes blobbish-looking). The train was supposed to have led them to safety, but she would always find herself trapped and cornered, shutting her eyes and waiting for inevitable doom…

…and then she would wake.

Lying on her side, Sherry Birkin stared with wide blue eyes at a shrieking alarm clock. She barely registered the sound or the glowing red numbers, as she was preoccupied with her racing heartbeat and labored breathing. Feeling the uncomfortable sweat clinging to her skin, Sherry shuddered, hoping to shake it away with the memory of her nightmare.

_It's squawking at me,_ she thought, glaring in annoyance at the bedside timepiece, but then shot up out of bed, finally registering the actual reason why the device had been 'squawking' at her in the first place.

"9:39!" she exclaimed, throwing the heavy covers off of her legs and practically stumbling over them on her way to the bathroom. Frantically, she showered, brushed her teeth, dressed, and quickly ran a comb through her long, very light brown hair (some would call it dirty blond). Sherry was in despair when she next glanced at the alarm clock – 9:51 – and was nearly screaming in frustration as she rushed to make her bed.

She blinded herself while throwing open the window curtains, stubbed her toe on what she was sure was either the nightstand or a chair, and spilled her favorite perfume all over the carpet. As she quickly opened a drawer to retrieve tissues to clean the offending, yet pleasantly scented liquid, a faint chime reached her ears, causing her to freeze like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Oh no," she gasped. A second chime and Sherry Birkin glanced back at the alarm clock above her. 9:59. 10:00. If there were to be a third chime she would have exactly eight minutes to respond before the standard security procedure would be taken. With that in mind, Sherry raced out of the bedroom and down the staircase, nearly tripping along the way.

_Yeah, that would've been something,_ she thought disparagingly as she hurried through the clean white hall. _Eight minutes gone by and he would've found me with my face all over the floor, missing three teeth._

The third doorbell chime. Sherry threw herself at the double front doors and pulled one open, quickly smoothing out her hair just once before facing the man that had her so frantic in the first place. He was a tall black silhouette that blocked out a portion of the sun that had again, blinded her. "Mornin'," she muttered, squinting and blocking the glare in her eyes with her hand.

"You overslept?" he inquired.

"No," she lied, stepping aside for him to enter. Sherry did not feel as confident as she sounded. Albert Wesker was a very precise and punctual man. The last thing Sherry wanted was to be the cause of anything that would make him late for whatever he had planned.

Wesker's gaze was scrutinizing even from behind his dark sunglasses. "You overslept."

Sherry rubbed the back of her neck and looked away. "Umm… kinda."

The black-clad man turned away and disappeared around a corridor. Sherry followed, dragging her feet slightly, her sneakers making a soft squeaky noise. Wesker led her into a small dining room, and then produced a dark yellow envelope in his gloved hand. Sherry took it with some hesitation and began to unwrap the thin string that sealed it as Wesker sat down at the head of the dining room table.

The contents were out of the envelope by the time Sherry was in the seat closest to him, but her mind was not on the sheets of paper he provided for her. The first page was full of text, front and back, and the others were satellite photos of some kind, depicting areas of Europe, particularly France and Spain. The Umbrella Corporation logo had been stamped somewhere on each sheet, but that did not surprise her. Actually, she did not think much of the paperwork. Perhaps because she had yet to fully wake up to the bright September morning, or because she hadn't seen Albert Wesker in over a month. After all, the man had a naturally intimidating and daunting presence, and even though Sherry had known him for years, it was a presence that was difficult to prepare for.

Sherry allowed herself to slowly exhale and purposely kept her eyes glued to the papers whose content she paid little attention to, all to withstand the gaze that she absolutely knew was on her, critically studying her every action.

"We leave in an hour," he stated. Her blue eyes widened and she fumbled with the papers in her hands, frantically looking for the page with all of the text on it.

"Uh, what? Why?" Sherry eyes scanned the page quickly. Some kind of archaeological excavation in Spain… an old castellan family… some more archaeology… a small village nearby… Sherry gave it a confused stare. That was _certainly_ a change from Umbrella's (and Wesker's) usual endeavors. It was definitely suspicious all right, but only because it seemed so… _normal_.

She gulped as Wesker's jaw tightened slightly. More unnerving was his calm, collected tone as he folded his hands over the surface of the hardwood table. "Read it," he ordered.

Her eyes and undivided attention obediently found the papers. She placed them flat on the table, separating the photos from the text. An island off the coast of Spain was being excavated by the castellans, for their family's ruins of lore. Umbrella had some of the workers on their payroll (to provide them information on the dig), and while they did not fund the excavation, the company was interested in what was being discovered there.

_Well, Wesker in particular,_ she thought with a subtle shake of her head. Umbrella had been on the verge of extinction for years, and it was no secret (not to her, at least) that Wesker was pulling all the resources he could find and manage to make a new Umbrella Corporation of his own…

"…and you need me to _translate_?" Sherry asked, giving Wesker the most bewildered expression she had ever given him.

"You are multi-lingual, are you not?"

Sherry nodded. "Well, yeah, but-,"

"English, French, Italian, Spanish-,"

"Romance languages. Anyone can do that-,"

"-and most importantly, Latin, which is what I'll be needing especially."

Sherry stared at him in disbelief. Wesker had been eighteen, nearly as young as her father, when they both began their research at the Arklay facility. Surely he knew how to speak Latin…

_Oh, listen to yourself!_ she mentally scolded. _Acting as if everyone you know can speak Latin like you!_

"Is something wrong?"

_But not everyone is like Wesker,_ Sherry reminded herself as she straightened in her seat. The room was quiet for some moments. "Why me?" she asked.

"I believe I already explained-,"

Sherry shook her head. "No, I mean, why _me_?"

Again, the emotionless, unreadable stare. "Ever since you were twelve years old, you have consistently complained about your supervision. For six years now I have done everything in my power to keep you out of any harm or situation that would prove to be inconvenient for my plans. You are eighteen now. I believe it is the proper time for you to prove your worth to us."

Sherry held her breath for a moment and uttered a soft yet strained, "Oh. I see." Her next exhale came only from her flaring nostrils as she tried to keep herself from losing her cool. "Yeah, I totally get it now. Am I to be the next great asset to the might Umbrella Corporation?" Again, she was surprised with how composed she sounded, but she was beginning to fear the edge of sarcasm in her tone. "Spend more than a decade of my life in some underground laboratory? Oh, or maybe after I prove my 'worth', you can teach me how to run through a nasty situation wearing only a tight dress and uncomfortable stiletto high heels so that one day I can grow up to be the next Ada Wong super-spy!"

Wesker was silent, but it was a deadly silence that made Sherry regret her statement and start worrying. Not knowing what else to do, she shifted in the dining chair, letting her gaze fall to the satellite photograph of an aerial view of the island in question.

The silence made things too tense for her preference. Sherry stood and gathered the files. "How long will we be gone?"

"At least a few weeks," he replied, sounding as though she hadn't said anything at all before. Still, somehow she could sense that he was not pleased.

Sherry closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. "Fine. I'll go pack then. Be down in a few, I guess." Looking defeated, she pushed the chair back into the table and made her way to the door.

"Happy Birthday, Sherry."

She rolled her eyes but didn't look back at him. "Yeah, thanks."

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**Author's Note: **This story is an attempt to answer some of the questions I have about the Resident Evil series, particularly how Umbrella/Wesker learned of the existence of Las Plagas and Los Illuminados, and what led to the events of RE4 that were not prompted by the kidnapping of Ashley Graham. I chose Sherry Birkin as one of the lead characters because you never hear from her again after RE2, and I thought it would be interesting to shed some light as to what she's been doing for the past six years under Wesker's "safe hands." Hope you all enjoy. 


	2. To Asturias

**Disclaimer:** Resident Evil and the characters associated with it belong to Capcom. Any supporting characters that make an appearance in this story that are not seen in the franchise belong entirely to me.

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**Chapter Two: To Asturias**

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They left within the hour, just as Wesker had promised. Sherry Birkin bade the small chateau a silent 'good-riddance' as Wesker drove them through the tall, automated gates, for which only he knew the security pass code to. It had been over a year since Sherry had seen anything outside of the grounds.

Wesker inquired if she was hungry, and after answering yes, Sherry was taken to a small diner in the nearest town for breakfast. While waiting for a long anticipated French meal, Sherry looked over the files more carefully. Wesker didn't order anything.

"This'll be one long trip," Sherry commented after thanking the waitress for the coffee set in front of her. "It says here we won't be arriving by any means of air travel."

"It is a secluded region," Wesker admitted from the opposite side of the booth, where the table was empty of any food or drinks. "I wouldn't want to draw too much attention to ourselves."

Sherry raised an eyebrow, but thought better about asking what exactly interested him in Spain. She knew Albert Wesker long enough to know that he expected full cooperation from those he required it from, no questions asked.

"A little road trip from France to Spain it is, then," she replied, taking a sip of the rich French coffee. While she longed to return to the States, she couldn't imagine ever bearing the bland American version of the beverage.

"Take care with those files," he warned her.

Sherry cast him a doubtful glance. "This is hardly the typical Umbrella classified stuff. _I'm_ still not even sure what all of this is for."

"You expressed an interest in archaeology some time ago," Wesker explained. "I supposed that this would be an adequate start for you."

She offered him a rueful smile. "And here I thought you would've had me work in the _family trade_."

Wesker remained impassive. The waitress soon brought Sherry's meal, and she ate it steadily, stopping often to look over the files. The Salazar family privately funded the excavation, the long time castellans of the rural region. Apparently, the only workers presently involved with the project were laborers from a nearby village, Cielo Lindo, and the Salazar family was in need of professional hands to handle the delicate artifacts and other findings. The needed occupations arranged from archaeologists to anthropologists, paleontologists, and even biologists.

"So…" Sherry began after swallowing a piece of toast. "Just out of mild curiosity…what services are _you_ planning to provide for the Salazar's?"

Wesker folded his gloved hands on the table, reminding Sherry of a hit man she'd once seen in a mafia movie. "Insurance."

She gaped at him. "You're kidding."

A blond eyebrow rose above his sunglasses. "Won't they be needing it?"

Sherry rested her face on the palm of her hand and laughed quietly. She couldn't believe it. With all of his skills, strength, and even _power_, Albert Wesker was going to be selling insurance.

_He got his PhD before it was even legal for him to buy alcohol, and he's going to pose as an insurance agent?_

He changed the subject. "You'll need an alias."

Sherry's smile faded. "Oh. Yeah, sure." She would be leaving captivity, but she would never be completely free. Ever since the Raccoon City incident, Sherry had been sheltered and hidden away, all to be kept safe from whatever it was that she supposedly needed safeguarding from. To this day, she still did not even know what it was. Someone from Umbrella, perhaps?

She had first met Wesker after escaping Raccoon City nearly six years before. He had been in the guise of a U.S government agent, and for a long while Sherry thought that he would ship her away to some foster home. Yet, after being moved from one area to another, facility after facility, with no sign of any other government officials (not even soldiers or the police) except Wesker, Sherry realized that it was another organization keeping her away entirely. It hadn't been long until she learned that Wesker had once been connected to her father in Umbrella.

Was she being safeguarded simply because she was William Birkin's daughter? Sherry was sure that was part of the reason, but there had to be more to it. She never got a real explanation out of Wesker, not in the six years she had known him, and while she absolutely loathed being such a prisoner, she had to admit that in the time that she had been in Wesker's care, she never saw another monster or heard another zombie moan again, except in her nightmares.

_Maybe you shouldn't be so suspicious of this trip after all,_ she thought. _Perhaps it seems so normal because Wesker wants it to be so?_ With that possibility in mind, Sherry felt more relieved, and even more grateful for finally being released from that imprisonment of a chateau in the middle of France. While she never fully understood Wesker's real intentions, she still felt somewhat guilty for giving him a hard time earlier. Here he was, finally giving her a chance to breathe some fresh air, and how did she respond?

_Then again, it's not like you don't have the right to be suspicious,_ she objected. _You know better than most that anything with the word 'Umbrella' written on it usually involves something crazy and illegal._

Oh yeah, that thought made her feel _a lot_ better.

After breakfast, Wesker pulled out a small computer from the backseat of the car, as well a special portable printer from which he produced some special documents for Sherry. A resume, college transcript, birth certificate… all for Andrea Strait, Sherry's new name for the expedition.

"Now that everything is in order, Miss Strait," said Wesker as he closed the laptop and answered Sherry's amused smile with a serious gaze," please understand the importance of your new identity. In Spain, Sherry Birkin does not exist."

She nodded. "Got it. Does, uh, Albert Wesker exist in Spain?"

Wesker turned the key in the ignition, bring the car to life. "No."

Sherry watched one of the side view mirrors for him (an unconscious habit) as he backed out of the diner's parking lot. "So, what do I call you when we're there?"

"Nothing," he answered easily. "Andrea Strait has no knowledge of the insurance company that is hoping to win Ramon Salazar over."

"Okay." Sherry looked down at the new resume in her lap. Andrea Strait graduated high school as Valedictorian of her class, with a GPA of 4.4. Currently majoring in archeology, Andrea recently won a scholarship to study abroad, and has done so already in places such as Cambridge and the University of Florence. Many of her professors recommended her for internships to archaeological digs, and already had some field experience in both Egypt and Rome. The dig in Spain was meant to be her next recommended internships.

Sherry Birkin on the other hand, was no Valedictorian. She had been home schooled her entire life, including the six years after the Raccoon City catastrophe. Intellectually, Sherry did not think she would have a problem living up to Andrea's standards (the foreign languages she knew were a result of her own desire to learn them), but imitating the field experience might be an issue. Sherry rarely saw civilization, much less any ancient ruins. She only hoped that the knowledge she gained from her studies would be enough to convince them.

"But seeing as we are still in France," Wesker spoke, interrupting her thoughts, "Albert Wesker and Sherry Birkin do still exist. How was your time at the chateau, my dear?"

Sherry propped her elbow onto the door and stared through the windowpane at the moving trees. "Predictable, though I actually managed to clean out that insanely messy attic." Sparing a glance at him, she tried, "How about you?" Sherry assumed the most casual tone she could manage. "Anything interesting happen?"

"Yes." Wesker didn't elaborate. Sherry frowned at him as he kept his concealed eyes on the road. He had never been much of a conversationalist – at least, not with her. Suddenly she wished she'd brought something top do with her in the front seat; she'd left all her books in her suitcase. Anything was better than waiting for Wesker to be social.

The scenery passed through her window in a soft blur as Wesker began to accelerate. The sky eventually grew cloudy and a gentle rain started to pour…

"…wake up, Sherry."

She gasped, startled. Sherry hadn't realized she'd dozed off. Wesker nudged her gently and she stared confusedly at the darkness around her. It was nighttime already?

"Are we there yet?" she yawned.

"Halfway," he answered. The car made a soft beeping noise in protest as he opened his door, bringing the lights on inside. "We crossed the border into Spain some time ago, but we'll rest here for tonight."

Sherry sniffed and glanced at her watch. Just a little past seven in the evening. "Whoa. You drove for seven and half hours straight?" She looked at him and wondered briefly how he could drive at night with sunglasses on. Then again, she had never seen him without them.

He had parked at a small inn in a town near the city of Pamplona. From what she could tell, they were still very close to the Pyrenees, the mountain range that created a natural border between Spain and France.

_He sure managed to cover a lot of distance, though I can't believe I slept for so long!_ However, she was grateful for the extra sleep. With all of the nightmares she had the night prior impeding on any real peace, it shouldn't have been a surprise to her that she crashed as soon as the car got moving.

Sherry shook her head clear of any additional weariness as she dragged her suitcase into the inn after Wesker. It was cheap, but clean and comfortable nonetheless. It reminded her briefly of Apple Inn, back at Raccoon City, where a relative once stayed to visit. Of course, he died with the T-virus, and Sherry was glad she didn't have to endure seeing her mother's brother as a zombie…

"One room, two separate beds," Wesker stated, and upon seeing the innkeeper's confused look, he said to Sherry, "Translate."

"Un cuarto," she said to the man behind the counter, "con dos camas separadas, por favor."

"Sí, Señorita," the innkeeper pleasantly replied. He was a young man, though no younger than Sherry, with disheveled black hair and plain clothing. Reaching into a drawer, he handed Sherry a room key. "Tenemos."

"He says it's available," Sherry then said to Wesker. He was leaning against the counter with his back turned to the innkeeper. A map was open in his hands.

"Ask him how long a drive it will be Asturias."

Sherry turned back to the young man. "En quanto tiempo puedo llegar en Asturias?"

The man's eyes narrowed in calculation. "Asturias es un poco lejo, no? Hmm... si empiencas temprano, no hay mucho trafico en la calle. Quartros houras por lo meno, Señorita."

"He says if we start early, there'll be no traffic on the highway and we'll make it in at least four hours."

Wesker folded the map. "Good. Get some rest. We leave at dawn."

Sherry nodded, but she had already slept for several hours during the drive and couldn't possibly go to sleep now, so instead she left the inn to find something to quell her growling stomach. After all, she hadn't eaten since breakfast that very morning in France.

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**Author's Note:** Sorry if it hasn't been terribly interesting, but I promise you the next update will include the familiar Resident Evil-ness we all love. 


	3. Mirror

**Disclaimer:** Resident Evil and the characters associated with it belong to Capcom. Any supporting characters that make an appearance in this story that are not seen in the franchise belong entirely to me.

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**Chapter Three: Mirror

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**

Asturias was one of the northernmost regions in Spain, sitting just east of the northwestern region of Galicia. When they finally reached it four hours after sunrise, Albert Wesker and Sherry Birkin witnessed a terrain of impressive mountains surrounding the nearly empty highway.

"The exit should be coming up very soon," Wesker said. "From there we'll find our way into the village."

Sherry shook her head at the unfolded map in her hands. "It's not listed here on the map…" Nowhere did it mention any place called 'Cielo Lindo' or even 'Salazar' for that matter.

"It's secluded and rural, yes," Wesker replied, "but I have the coordinates from the satellite." Sherry gave the car's GPS a brief doubting expression. "We should have no trouble finding it."

In another hour they were off the highway and driving through a road with a single lane, hidden in a dense wood. The trees' branches and limbs arched over the roadway, creating a natural tunnel. The paved road, while narrow, was comfortably smooth. Sherry opened her window to enjoy the coming autumn breeze that was slowly beginning to turn some of the leaves into their shades of red, orange, and yellow.

_Not so bad for an eighteenth birthday, right?_ Sherry asked herself. She closed her eyes and smiled as the wind tousled her light brown hair. _Normal girls who turn eighteen go clubbing so that desperate guys can harass them until four in the morning… but not me. I can actually say I took a road trip through Spain._

Sherry's eyes found Wesker, and despite his composed and somewhat intimidating presence, she continued to smile. The blond man glanced at her and impassively turned back to the road. "Something on your mind, dear?" he asked in a dignified tone.

_Some girls would complain about the chaperone, and for good reason,_ Sherry admitted only to herself, _but unlike them, I suppose I won't ever have to worry about being kidnapped in Cancun._ "Just in a good mood, that's all," she answered him.

Sherry wanted to laugh upon imagining Wesker standing on some beach in Cancun, wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt and sandals that were a drastic change from his usual black attire, and of course, his sunglasses. Giggling quietly was the only way she could restrain herself.

"I can see that," he replied with a small smirk. Suddenly, however, he grit his teeth as the car jumped and jerked violently. Sherry shrieked as she was thrown forward in her seat, her seatbelt roughly pushing her back. Simultaneously, something popped loudly and the car screeched as Wesker struggled to bring it back under his control. Sherry gripped the edges of her seat for dear life as the vehicle veered in every direction. Wesker slammed on the brakes and swung the steering wheel. Sherry saw the world turn upside down and then pain erupted on the back of her skull.

"_Claire! Claire! Help me! Leon? Anyone!"_

_She ran into a dark room where only a tall mirror stood. Her mother was lying prone on the floor. There were moans coming from everywhere. She shook her mother's body, crying._

"_Mommy! Mommy! Please wake up!"_ _When she turned her mother's body over, she screamed as a decaying face opened it's mouth and hands as cold as death went for her throat. She kicked at her mother's body and stumbled away, only to stop herself from colliding into the tall mirror._

_She gasped. Her reflection showed a little girl with tears streaming down her face. That annoying sailor outfit her mother liked to dress her in was covered in dirt and blood that wasn't hers. Her hair was shorter too, kept back only by a thin red headband. Around her neck was a long chain and a golden pendant. In the mirror she saw her mother approach._

_"Claire wouldn't forget about me," she whispered to herself. "Or is she dead too?" She closed her eyes as her zombie mother's teeth came down upon her young flesh…_

"…Mom!" Sherry cried out. She heard beeping and her head was hurting. She was hanging in a sitting position, not exactly upside down, but on her side. Directly below her was an empty driver's seat. The beeping came from the car, and a deflated air bag hung in front of her.

_Accident…_ Her head hurt too much for any other thoughts. With shaking hands she found her seat belt and unhooked it. It was difficult lowering herself out of the seat in that heavy side position. Her shoes touched the driver's door, her new floor.

"Wesker?" she groaned, holding the back of her head. She wasn't bleeding, so she figured that it must've not been that bad. "Probably hit my head against the seat too hard…" she muttered.

Moving her feet caused shards of glass to crunch under her soles. It was a difficult climb to the backseat, but Sherry was able to retrieve the laptop case and her travel bag. She wasn't sure she wanted to risk leaving the files and other Umbrella information inside the wrecked car. Moving the airbag out of the way had been a real pain, but she needed to see if there was anything important in the glove compartment. To her surprise it contained a plain 9mm handgun, for which she was hesitant about taking.

"Just incase, okay?" Sherry told herself with a heavy sigh as she carefully hid it in her travel bag. Getting to the door above her would be an impossible feat, but luckily the windshield had been damaged and she was able to kick through the glass. Crawling through to the outside world was also hard, especially as she dragged both the laptop and her bag with her. She cut her palm on a small piece of glass.

The world was quiet. "Wesker!" she called, but no answer came. The breeze she had been enjoying before was still. She wondered how long she had been unconscious.

_Damn it, I wish I had a cell phone!_ She considered using the laptop, but that would be pointless, seeing as there was no Internet connection, wireless or otherwise, for Sherry to use.

"What am I going to do?" she muttered, holding her palm and trying to apply pressure to the cut. Sherry searched the road with her eyes until they fell on a black-clad figure lying face down in the middle of the street, some ways behind the car. "Wesker!" she shouted, almost sure that it was he.

Sherry sprinted towards the figure, but as soon as she turned the body over she regretted doing so. It wasn't Wesker at all, but rather a bald, middle-aged man in black monk's robes. He was dead. His eyes were shut and his jaw was slack, saliva and blood spilling out of the corners of his mouth. She observed with some revulsion the large cavity in the monk's chest. It wasn't bloody or completely open, but it looked as though the monk had received an insanely powerful punch through his rib cage that caused the bones inside to cave inwards, thus piercing any internal organs in the way. It was painful enough just imagining it; Sherry winced in sympathy for the man.

_Did we run over him as Wesker lost control of the car?_ she wondered, but then realized how unlikely a possibility that was, due to the injury he sustained. Sherry looked back to the car, and to her astonishment, she noticed for the first time the thick arrows sticking out of one of the ruined tires. Lying on the dirt not far from the monk's body was an empty crossbow gun.

Sherry instinctively backed away from the dead body. The most likely possibility was that the so-called monk had shot at them with the crossbow. And since Wesker was nowhere to be found, could it have been possible that he killed the attacker himself? Sherry looked around with frightened eyes. What if there were more around, waiting to ambush her? Did they capture Wesker?

_You know hell will freeze over and pigs will fly when Wesker actually gets captured,_ Sherry tried to assure herself. _If Wesker left, it was probably for a good reason. Maybe he went to go find the village?_

"The village!" Sherry gasped. Suddenly, she felt a rush of excitement and left over adrenaline, now that she had a plan of action. Cielo Lindo, or Pueblo Lindo as it was sometimes referred to, couldn't have been very far away. Wesker had already mentioned they were close. All she needed to do was find it and ask someone for help. She just hoped that the old Asturiano dialect wasn't primarily spoken there, as she was only familiar with traditional Spanish.

Before beginning her hike down the road, Sherry searched the 'monk' one last time and found two items: a talisman in the shape of some strange insignia she was not familiar with, and a wrinkled piece of parchment that was written, to her surprise, in Latin. It took her longer than usual to translate it, as she hadn't had practice with the dead language in while, but finishing it prompted her to pull the handgun out of her bag. The paper was titled 'Seasonal Sacrifice' and it described a ritual that involved kidnapping tourists and travelers so that they could be offered to some unnamed sect. An insignia was drawn on the parchment that was identical to the talisman she found on the robed man's body.

Sherry ran as fast as she could past the wrecked car in search of the village.


	4. En Pueblo

**Disclaimer:** Resident Evil and the characters associated with it belong to Capcom. Any supporting characters that make an appearance in this story that are not seen in the franchise belong entirely to me.

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**Chapter Four: En Pueblo**

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Sherry didn't stop running until she found a dirt path that broke off from the paved road. She bent forward with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily. Her right hand gripped the 9mm tightly, and then it occurred to her that she hadn't even checked to see if it was loaded. Sherry studied the weapon, still feeling insecure about having it in the first place. Having any weapon in her hand felt too reminiscent of Raccoon City. 

_But how else do you expect to protect yourself?_ Sherry's expression was grim as she pulled out the magazine. Its rectangular belly was full with ammunition. She didn't have much experience with guns, but Wesker had demonstrated to her the basics a while back, just in case of an emergency. She'd been grateful for the brief lesson; for the past six years she had subconsciously expected another viral outbreak to occur at any moment. It was an awful long time in which she had been looking over her shoulder and jumping at shadows and strange sounds.

Sherry took a deep breath, slipping the magazine back into the handgun. "Okay. You can handle this," she told herself. "Just find the village."

She started down the path. It went mostly northward through trees and a denser part of the wood. The closeness of the trees made everything darker, and Sherry couldn't deny the sense of foreboding that came to her with every step she took forward. Then came a wooden bridge, wide enough to fit a car through. She stopped before it only to readjust the straps of the travel bag and the laptop case over her weary shoulders. It hadn't been easy to run with their combined weight.

There was something about the bridge that made her want to cross it as quickly as possible. She knew there was no reason to fear it, but thanks to past experiences, Sherry always expected a monster to jump out of every new area that provided cover for the creatures underneath her. Her sprint past the bridge brought her to a more open area, where the trees weren't so close to one another.

"Made it!" she exclaimed. There, at the end of the clearing was an old truck parked at a lone wooden house. A woman sat in a rocking chair on the porch, knitting, while a man stood off to the side of the house, chopping wood with an axe. Upon seeing Sherry approach, the woman called for the man. Within moments, she and her bearded counterpart stood at the porch, waving at Sherry.

She stopped just before the porches' steps, making sure to quickly hide the gun back in her bag so that she wouldn't frighten the man and woman. "Ayuda me, por favor," she pleaded. '_Help me, please_.'

The man stepped forward, concern in his dark eyes. Both he and the woman were dressed in very plain clothing. Sherry supposed they were farmers, or people trapped in a different century. "¿Que pasa?" he asked, having already sensed that something was wrong.

Sherry's breathing was quick. "Fuimos atacados en el camino, y mi guia sé desaparecio." '_We were attacked on the road, and my guide disappeared_.'

"¡Atacado!" the man exclaimed. He looked to the woman, who had covered her mouth in surprise. "¡Cómo el niño de Reyes!"

_This has happened before?_ Sherry thought, looking at the man and woman (she assumed they were husband and wife) in shock. It was apalling enough that tourists were attacked, but children... _The son of someone named Reyes..._ Suddenly, however, she was ushered into the house by the wife, and looking back, she saw the man pull the axe he had been using before out of a tree stump before quickly running back across the bridge.

The woman guided Sherry into a chair at a small table by a fireplace. While a bit old fashioned, it was a comfortable home. Quite suddenly, the woman took Sherry's bleeding hand and examined it with what looked to be a concerned, yet somehow angry expression. "Me llamo Maria," said the woman.

"Sher-," she began, but stopped herself from replying. _Sherry Birkin doesn't exist in Spain. Time to pretend to be someone that I'm not._ "Andrea," Sherry said with some hesitation, the name feeling uncomfortable on her tongue. She felt awkward sticking to her false identity, unsure if it was because she had never used a fake identity before, or because the situation might have changed after the attack.

_What would Wesker want you to do?_ Sherry asked herself. Considering if Wesker was even alive, anyway. In spite of the number of years she had known him, he was still as mysterious as when she had first met him. She could never guess what he was thinking or what his intentions were, unless he voiced them to her, which was not very often. Still, she went searching for the village thinking he might have headed that way as well, so until she found him, Sherry decided that she would have no choice but to stick to imaginary persona that was Andrea Strait.

The woman, Maria, set a bowl of water on the table and dipped a small towel in it, squeeze-drying the cloth and then using it to clean the blood off of Sherry's palm. Sherry had managed to stop most of the bleeding, but there was still a stinging pain inside of her hand that she felt whenever she moved the limb in a specific way. She winced as the towel passed over the tiny, yet painful spot.

"¿Tienes algo adentro la mano?" Maria asked, and Sherry nodded, sure that a tiny piece of glass from the shattered windshield had lodged itself somewhere under her cut.

"¿Umm... vidrio?" Sherry slowly replied, for the moment forgetting what the word for _glass_ was in spanish. She was grateful that Maria hadn't spoken in any regional dialect.

Maria stood to retrieve a pair of small tweezers and then began to search the cut with them. Sherry ground her teeth together and winced, looking away from the source of her stinging pain.

"You are American?" Maria inquired with a thick accent that rolled the r's in each word.

Sherry smiled sheepishly while she tried to avoid looking at Maria's work on her hand. "Am I that obvious?"

The other woman shrugged. "Your pronounciation is good," she admitted. "Your clothes look... eh... expensive."

Sherry stared down at her denim covered lap. She didn't consider her dark blue sweater and jeans anywhere near expensive, but she figured that department stores weren't frequent commodities in the rural parts of Asturias. Maria and her husband seemed more like humble farmers. "Oh. I guess they-," there was a sudden sting of pressure in her hand, but then she felt no pain at all.

"Ya," Maria announced, holding up the tweezers. In it's grip was a very tiny piece of crimson-stained glass. Sherry stared at the dark haired woman, surprised, while clutching her tender palm.

"Thank you," Sherry answered quietly. Maria waved dismissively and soaked the towel in the bowl again.

"A little thing like that," Maria said in her accent, "causing you so much trouble..."

_It's always the smallest of things,_ Sherry thought to herself, her mind traveling back to a time when her worst moments in life had been caused by something so small, it couldn't be seen without a microscope. _T-Virus. Seemed so long ago, but it's still fresh in my mind._

"Ahora we clean it," Maria declared, taking grasp of Sherry's hand again. The cold wet towel now felt soothing on her skin rather than painful.

"Where did your husband go?" Sherry questioned.

"To el pueblo to tell the people what has happened," she replied. "You see, two days ago, three of the children from the village disappeared and..."

Sherry gulpled as Maria took a stronger hold on her arm, her brown eyes looking more infuriated than remorseful. She expected the rest of the story would be troubling, and wasn't sure she could stand to hear it.

"...the only child to return was Carlos Reyes' son, but he died in his father's arms. He bled to death." Sherry's blue eyes were wide with a mixture of shock, outrage and disgust. "At first we thought it had been an animal, but..."

Sherry waited for her to continue, but Maria looked away towards the nearest window. The Spaniard woman clutched the towel tightly, squeezing water droplets onto the wooden floor. Her hand shook, the tanned knuckles slowly turning white.

After some moments of uncomfortable silence, Maria finished cleaning and helping Sherry bandage her small wound. For the next hour or so, Sherry contemplated her fear and confusion over a cup of coffee Maria prepared for her.

_What a way to start celebrating your birthday,_ she thought glumly.

"Where were you traveling to, Andrea?" asked Maria from an unseen corner of the house where Sherry heard water running.

It took a moment for Sherry to respond, as she was still not accustomed to being addressed as Andrea. As odd as it was, it felt as though Maria had been speaking to another person and not to Sherry. "Cielo Lindo."

The water stopped running and Maria emerged into the room, drying her hands. "Bueno, you found it," the older woman replied with a soft chuckle.

Sherry looked around. "The village starts here?"

"No, no. Not exactly. Cielo Lindo is more like the area. _Pueblo_ Lindo is the village, just a mile or so north."

"I was accepted for an internship at the Salazar excavation," Sherry explained.

Recognition flashed across Maria's face. "Ah, sí. There have been a few others; researchers hired by los castellanos. My husband has decided to work at the site as well. Salazar has promised the men good wages for their help."

"Well, that's good," Sherry answered. "I guess I'll-,"

She was interrupted by the sound of Maria's husband entering the house, the axe still in his hand. It made him look somewhat frightening, but fortunately, he announced, "Niña. Yo té accompanio en el camino."

"Jorgé will take you to the inn," Maria explained. "You will be safe there."

"Thank you so much," Sherry said as she stood to follow Maria's husband out of the house.

"Cuida té," Maria warned her.

"I will," Sherry promised.

Jorgé's truck seemed almost ancient, but it operated fine just the same. He carefully drove it north, across another bridge that made Sherry close her eyes until they finished crossing it. Not only did the structure seem fragile, the chasm of rushing water below promised certain death if the bridge were to ever collapse. The rest of the way was a path surrounded by dense trees and the occasional wooden shack where the villagers kept supplies, as Jorgé had explained to her.

Maria's husband did not speak much, but did he did promise her several times that he and the other men in the village would find the 'cabrónes' that murdered the children and attacked her. He was not bilingual like his wife, and spoke very fast in his native tongue at times, making it more of a challenge for Sherry to understand him. Sherry told him that she would be working in the excavation as well, but she lost him in the conversation when he rapidly explained mining as well as something about his grandfather once being a coal miner.

Fortunately, she didn't have to pretend to understand him for long. Jorgé stopped explaining to point out the village that was coming up shortly. Sherry had expected it to be small, but she was still surprised when she saw it. The small streets were nothing more than clearings of dirt that separated the old wooden buildings, while cows and chickens roamed them more than humans did. The few children that she did see playing outside were quickly ushered into their homes by paranoid and frightened mothers. Sherry glanced at the sky and noted that the time was nowhere near dusk or night.

"Are they that frightened?" Sherry asked quietly.

"¿Que?"

Sherry glanced at Jorgé and shook her head. "Nada. Estaba pensando."

Jorgé nodded and looked back at the road in front of him. He drove the truck across a large open gate and into another forested area. There was the occasional villager that ran by the truck with a crate over his shoulders, and once a woman carrying a goat back to the previous part of the village. There were a few barnhouses, and then after just a few more moments of driving came a more residential part of the village. There were no barnyard animals, and the houses looked newer than those she had seen previously. Jorgé parked in front of one of the largest houses, a two story building where Sherry could hear music escaping one of the opened windows – the gentle trill of a solo guitar.

"Pregunta por las Hermanas Bellas," Jorgé instructed her. "Isabel y Maribel."

Sherry opened the truck door and grabbed her travel bag and the lap top. _The Bella Sisters, Isabel and Maribel. Got it._ "Gracias por todo, señor," she thanked him before hopping out of the truck.

As Jorgé drove away in his ancient vehicle, Sherry pushed open the front doors to the Pueblo Lindo inn. The song playing from the guitar became significantly louder as she entered the building, and Sherry spotted it's player: a man who looked like the kind of Spanish person Hollywood would use in an action flick. He even wore cowboy boots and had his feet propped up on the table he was sitting at in the corner of the room while he strummed the guitar strings. He was the first person Sherry had seen in the village who did not look like a farmer.

There was nothing else in the room other than the guitar player, a bar, and a set of stairs leading up to what she guessed were the guest rooms. When the guitar player noticed her, he stopped the music.

"Señorita," he greeted with a charming smile as he pushed a piece of his chin-length black hair out of his face.

"Buenos dias," she said.

"The sisters are busy upstairs," he explained as he set the guitar aside, "but I can help you if you like."

Sherry sighed and shook her head tiredly. "Is my tourist look really that obvious?"

"Tourist look?" he questioned, as he looked her up and down. "I don't know what you mean."

"How else would you have known I speak English?" she questioned.

The man shrugged. "This _is_ a little hotel of sorts, and like you, I am a guest."

"Oh," Sherry replied, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment.

"Me llamo Lu-,"

"LUIS!!!!"

Sherry jumped from the startling scream of rage that erupted from the second floor. A young woman came running down the stairs with a shoe in her hand, and the man Sherry had been speaking to yelped and jumped out of the way as the woman's shoe came flying his way. It knocked a bottle of liquor from the bar and Sherry winced as the glass crashed all over the floor.

"Maribel!" he shrieked. "Calm down!"

"How dare you tell that cabrón Miguel that I was available!" The rest of the words that came from the woman's mouth were a torrent of curses and threats in Spanish that Sherry didn't even want to try to understand.

"I thought that you might be a good couple," was Luis' excuse.

Maribel answered with a string of 'no, no, no, no, no's' and other negatives, including a _charming_ Spanish explanation of how she would sooner carve her face off with a chainsaw and feed it to a bear than go out with that cabrón Miguel.

"And you call yourself my cousin," Maribel finished in English. Sherry felt the color drain from her face as Maribel turned towards her, looking angrier than any person Sherry had ever seen. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Umm…" Sherry timidly began.

"She's a guest!" Luis quickly replied.

Maribel frowned, but it did not seem to be an expression born from guilt or embarrassment. While Maribel was very pretty, Sherry's first impression of her was a lasting frightening one.

"Andrea Strait," Sherry quietly said.

"Ah," Maribel shortly replied. She directed no visible anger towards Sherry, but she did still seem to fume over Luis' mistake. "You need a room then."

Sherry nodded. "Yes, I'm actually here for the excavation-,"

"Sí, sí, the Salazars," Maribel interrupted her. "We have most of the rooms filled with researchers coming from Dios-sabes-donde."

Another woman, who identically resembled Maribel came down the stairs and said in a tired voice, "La aqua, loca."

Maribel rolled her eyes and answered, "Take care of it Isabel, I'm bringing in a guest."

Maribel's twin sighed and called out as she ascended the stairs, "It'll start getting cold soon, and if the guests leave because their bath water is killing them before the winter…"

"_Entonces__…_" Maribel continued. "We still have some rooms left. Don't listen to my sister. You'll have heated water for bathing. We just have to call Guerra in to look at the boiler."

"Oh, that's fine," Sherry said. "Actually, I was wondering, since you mentioned you've had other researchers check in… did a man come in before me today?"

"Three," Maribel confessed, "including my so-called cousin who likes Madrid better than his family or hometown!"

Luis shrugged from the bar, where he helped himself to a drink. "Not much work here, prima."

"Well," Sherry continued, "were any of them tall with blond hair and dressed in a black suit?"

Maribel frowned. "Not that I know of."

"Oh, and," Sherry added, "he's probably wearing sunglasses."

The young woman seemed to think it over but then shook her head. "Sorry. No Americano with sunglasses. Is he a friend of yours?"

"He was my guide," Sherry explained, "and he disappeared when I woke up in the car crash."

Maribel's eyes widened. "Ay, Dios mio! _You_ were the girl Jorgé came running here about! Attacked by those… those…."

"Cabrónes?" Sherry suggested.

Maribel clenched her fists. "No, no. Not strong enough of a word for them. I don't even have a vulgar enough word to describe los monstros that did that to Reyes' niño."

"And the other two children," Sherry reminded her. Maribel nodded and sat with a heavy and depressed sigh into the nearest chair. Sherry remembered the note and the talisman she found on the monk that was lying dead near the car and wondered if she should show it to Maribel, Luis, or her sister.

_No_, she decided. _That'll only frighten them some more. _She would ask for whoever had authority in the village and show it to that person instead. _At least they would actually have the power to do something about it._

"Well," said Maribel, "I'll show you your room. Some of the men will go out tonight to inspect your car. I'm sure you left some things inside."

"Yeah," Sherry nodded. "Will they be all right?"

"Reyes owns a shotgun," Luis informed. "He mentioned he would be going with them."

"Sí," said Maribel. "Nothing to worry about. What you need is rest. We've never had a killing in this town before any of this, and we'll make sure it's the last."

Maribel ushered her up the stairs, and Sherry felt more weight on her shoulders as she carried the travel bag and the lap top case to the second floor. She didn't understand why she felt partly responsible for their grief.

_Guilt by association,_ she tried to convince herself. _Wesker's trying to bring back Umbrella, and he just happened to disappear near a town where some psychopaths are murdering children._

"Mi nombre es Luis Sera, by the way. If you need anything, señorita, I know I'll be happy to help you."

Sherry looked back at the man who sat back down at the table where she first saw him and smiled slightly as he returned to playing his guitar. "Thank you," she said, and Sherry would have liked to blush, but her worry that she might have walked into another nightmare kept the color from filling her cheeks.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Some Spanish to English translations: 

_"¡Atacado!" "¡Cómo el niño de Reyes!"_ - Attacked! Like Reyes' son!

_"¿Tienes algo adentro la mano?"_ - You have something inside your hand?

_Cielo Lindo/Pueblo Lindo_ - Cute Sky/Cute Village. Since RE4 didn't give the village a name, I felt it would be appropriate to include a little sense of irony.

_"Cuida té_." - Take care, or, be careful.

_"Nada. Estaba pensando."_ - Nothing. I was thinking to myself.

_"Dios-sabes-donde."_ - God-knows-where.

_"Entonces."_ - More or less of a way to say, "Anyway..."

_Prima_ - cousin.


	5. Musica

**Disclaimer:** Resident Evil and the characters associated with it belong to Capcom. Any supporting characters that make an appearance in this story that are not seen in the franchise belong entirely to me.

* * *

**Chapter Five: ****Musica

* * *

**

The room she was given was so simple that Sherry almost assumed that the building didn't have electricity. The lights on the walls resembled old-fashioned gas lamps and a metal basin sat on the wooden nightstand near a four-poster bed. It was with a moment's investigation that she found a single outlet near the bed, appearing almost out of place amongst the cabin-like furnishings. She set the laptop carrying case and travel bag on the small desk nearest the window, and just as she turned to lay her exhausted form on the bed, she experienced a sudden curiosity that made her quickly unzip the carrying case.

The laptop bore a thin crack across the topside of the monitor, but the shiny screen and keyboard remained thankfully undamaged from the crash. The power button was actually a small Umbrella logo, and as Sherry pushed it, the computer hummed to life. An emotionless female voice suddenly said, "Welcome," startling Sherry. The screen took her to an elaborate username and password display, the username already being filled in as 'WAUadmin4.' The password field sat empty.

Sherry watched an Umbrella logo revolve slowly beside the password dialog box as she contemplated what to do next. She hoped that the laptop held answers and a way to contact Wesker or anyone else in the case of an emergency, but a part of her feared entering the wrong password. Ever since she was a kid she had always had this feeling that Umbrella might have been a little too fond of unnecessary self-destruct mechanisms.

_It was like the founders of the corporation watched too many episodes of Mission: Impossible or something,_ she mused as she simultaneously tried to discern what 'WAUadmin4' meant.

"Administrator, obviously," she muttered. Which meant that Wesker obviously had administrator's rights to many of Umbrella's functions. She briefly played with the idea that it might even be possible to control the entire corporation from that individual laptop.

_But Wesker wouldn't leave this equipment behind if it were really that important,_ Sherry thought. Muttering, "Here goes nothing," she pushed 'Enter' with her index finger. In a bout of paranoia she jumped back away from the computer, but the only sound that issued from the machine was a negative-sounding ding. Sherry was wincing as the dialog box displayed an 'Incorrect Password' message in red Caps Lock font. Nothing else happened.

"What…?" she whispered. _No countdown?_ Sherry felt the warmth and color rise to her cheeks, but she was soon lying back on the bed, laughing softly. Umbrella self-destruction paranoia. How foolish of her. Still, she wondered if the computer would have a reaction to repeated incorrect password entries. The laptop might not necessarily explode, but she might never be able to gain access to it. Sherry shut the laptop down and returned it to it's carrying case.

The day slowly waned into dusk. Sherry spent most of it in her room, worried about _everything_. There was not a word on what happened to Wesker, and Sherry stared for a while out of the room's window, hoping to see a blond head and sunglasses emerge from somewhere in the village. She wasn't necessarily close to Wesker, but in truth, he was all she really had in her life of isolation after the Raccoon City crisis. She may have come out of hiding and returned to the world, but this time, it seemed that she was truly alone.

A knock on the door startled Sherry from her thoughts. One of the Bella sisters entered, dragging a bag behind her with a smile. It was Sherry's suitcase. "Reyes and the other men went down to your coche," she announced in her thick accent. "It was a real mess, but they found your things."

Sherry nodded but did not move from the bed. "Thank you." The smile from the beautiful Spanish twin might have been contagious, but Sherry's worry dominated the urge to brighten her own expression. "There hasn't been any news on my guide, has there?"

The smile faded from the young Spanish woman. "Nada, mija. I'm sorry."

Sherry frowned. "There wasn't anything else?" Surely they might have stumbled across some things from Umbrella, or of course, the body of the robed man…

The twin innkeeper shook her head. "Nada," she repeated. Setting the suitcase by the door, she held out her hand for Sherry to take. "The bath is ready for you now. Join us downstairs later. Maribel and I are going to dance." With a giggle she suggested, "Maybe we can teach you flamenco?"

Sherry managed a slight smile as she followed Isabel out of the room. From upstairs she could already hear people gathering below. Her stomach growled as the scent of tapas and other Spanish foods lingered in her nostrils. She had forgotten that she hadn't eaten since morning.

The inn was packed with people by the time she finished bathing. A space was reserved at the end of the room for a wooden platform that served as a mini-stage. Luis sat there strumming his guitar, and winked at Sherry when he spotted her.

She approached him timidly but found the courage to ask, "So you're performing tonight as well?"

"I'll be providing the background for my cousins," he replied. Gently, he strummed one of the guitar's strings, and though it produced no melody, the sound was still pleasant to Sherry's ears. She wasn't sure why, but she thought of a waterfall.

"You'll have quite an audience," Sherry remarked as she glanced about the inn. The various tables had already filled up with villagers and some of the inn's guests,

Luis motioned with a nod of his head to a lonely couple sitting in the corner of the room. The man looked brooding while the woman next to him hid her face behind her hands. "That's Carlos Reyes and his wife," he whispered to Sherry, leaning close to her ear.

Sherry's stomach felt strange as her eyes found the Reyes'. Not in a sick way, but it tightened uncomfortably nonetheless. Perhaps it was guilt that she felt. Everyone was preparing to enjoy themselves with some live music while a husband and wife still grieved over their murdered child.

"We asked them to come," Luis told her somberly. "Staying in their home and apparently not eating or sleeping… it's not healthy."

"I don't blame them though," Sherry replied.

"Neither do I, señorita," he said, going back to strumming notes on his guitar. Frowning, Sherry made her way to one table that hadn't filled up yet. Within moments, someone sat in the chair beside hers.

"Buenas noches," said the newcomer. Sherry glanced up to see a stout man in about his thirties with short brown hair and green eyes smiling at her, looking apparently oblivious to all activity around him.

"Buenas noches," Sherry repeated softly, shyly glancing down at her hands.

"Isabel told me you're here for the excavation."

Sherry nodded. "I am."

"As am I," he declared proudly. "I came all the way here from Oviedo. I was chosen among five other competitors as the chief geologist for this project."

"Congratulations," she replied. "I'm Andrea."

"Gabriel Marquez," he said in a friendly tone. "I don't mean to offend, but you seem a bit young."

Sherry smiled weakly. "I'm just a student. I study aboard often."

Gabriel's shined with delight and interest. "Ah¡Que bueno! Tell me, where have you studied?"

Sherry glanced up at the stage. People were beginning to cheer as Isabel and Maribel appeared on the platform. Both sisters were remarkably beautiful, each with their dark hair pinned up in a bun with an elaborate flower, and wearing gorgeous flowing dresses. Isabel's was blue and Maribel's was red. The cheering and clapping became louder as Luis Sera began to play his music and the Bella sisters began to dance, their feet stomping in fast complicated rhythms to Luis' notes. The stomping sounded remarkably similar to the gallop of horses, both elegant and regal.

Gabriel Marquez did not even seem to notice the event as he patiently awaited Sherry's answer. She closed her eyes for a very short moment as she struggled to remember all the facts she had read about Andrea Strait.

"My first internship was in Cairo," she explained. "You probably know of the current excavation under the Sphinx."

"I had heard about it," said Gabriel.

"After that I spent a semester in the University of Florence. I was able to attend an excavation in Rome as well."

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, ignoring the cheers as the first performance ended. "That's very impressive, especially for someone your age." Sherry flushed. Gabriel looked genuinely convinced of her tale. It felt so uncomfortable and strange to lie to him.

_It comes with the territory of Umbrella,_ she thought despondently. Sherry briefly wondered what secrets her own parents had to keep from each other. She knew a great deal about what they had kept from her, as if that hadn't been complicated enough. Sherry imagined her father, William, working obsessively over some virus while Wesker stood somewhere behind him, watching like the sentinel that he was. Just how well had her father known Wesker, she wondered. It was frightening to think about what they might have accomplished together during Umbrella's glory days.

So lost in her thoughts was she, that Sherry barely registered the great shadow that passed over the table. Gabriel had been animatedly explaining his role in the Salazar family excavation and was interrupted, his "Oh," coming right after Sherry's wake from her reverie.

A giant and a lumberjack were standing before the table. Sherry shrunk down into her chair, for taller of the two was the most menacing. He stood about two or three feet higher than Wesker, and wore a black coat. His head was bald, but a long thick beard adorned his face that briefly reminded Sherry of Rasputin, especially with the dark look in the man's eyes. One eye, she noted, was made of glass, black to match his other eyeball.

"Señorita Strait," said a pleasant voice. Sherry looked in surprise to the lumberjack, a well-built man about Gabriel's age. Had it not been for his polite demeanor, he would have been as frightening as the Rasputin look-alike next to him.

"Hello," she weakly whimpered.

The overall-wearing lumberjack laughed. "There's no need to be shy or frightened. You are safe now!" Sitting at the table across from her, he declared, "I am el doctór Eduardo Blanco, but everyone here calls me Dr. Salvador."

"Buenas noches, señor," Gabriel replied. Dr. Salvador nodded politely in his direction.

Sherry blinked. He sure didn't look like a doctor, not with the blue overalls and burly build. Still, she could see a degree of knowledge in his eyes, one that proved that appearances could definitely be deceiving. He seemed nice enough as well, but Sherry still had her doubts about the enormous man standing behind him.

As if reading her thoughts, Dr. Salvador gestured to the man. "This is the chief of Pueblo Lindo, Bitores Mendez. He led the search party back to your crashed vehicle earlier today. He came to inform you of that, as well as ask some questions. I came to check on your physical health."

"I-I'm fine," she shakily answered.

"Your hand as well?" Dr. Salvador questioned, glancing down at the bandaged appendage. Sherry looked at it and clenched it softly before nodding. "That's very fortunate then."

Sherry timidly glanced up at the other man, Mendez. "So… what did you need to ask me about?"

Mendez's voice was intimidating and raspy, his tone certainly what Sherry had expected from a man with his appearance and demeanor. "I need to know everything about the incident."

The _incident._ Sherry winced. Her entire life seemed to be an incident, apparently. When Wesker first met her, he asked her the same thing. He had her tell him everything about what she saw in Raccoon, the police station, and even everything about Claire and Leon. Up on the stage, Luis Sera and his beautiful twin cousins were starting a new song and everyone cheered.

"I think we were attacked," she began. "My guide may have been kidnapped or escaped. When I woke up, I found arrows in one of the tires."

Dr. Salvador had his hands folded in contemplation. "So you think that perhaps someone shot at your vehi-,"

"There were no arrows," Mendez interrupted, his voice filled with conviction. Gabriel Marquez shared a confused glance with Sherry. "We found nothing at the site except for the car. Clearly, your guide lost control of the vehicle." She stared at Mendez increduously, seriously debating to herself about whether or not she should tell them about the dead robed man or the note written in Latin about sacrifcing tourists. Yes, he may have been the leading authority in the village, but she knew what she saw.

"But now he's missing!" she protested.

"I've made finding him our first priority," Mendez answered, his face looking everything but sympathetic. "First, you must tell me everything you know about him."

Sherry closed her eyes, feeling dizzy and short of breath. "Are you all right, señorita?" asked Dr. Salvador, his voice full of what sounded like genuine concern.

"I... I think need some air." Sherry swayed a bit as she stood, nodding to Gabriel first before nodding to the others.

"Well," Dr. Salvador questioned, "do you need help outside?"

Sherry furiously shook her head. "No, no thank you. I just need some time to think." Both Gabriel and Dr. Salvador frowned at her in concern, whereas Mendez's face just seemed to be set in a permanent glare. It was a glare Sherry fought hard to avoid as she quickly stepped around the other tables and guests, all of whom were attentive only to Luis and the Bella twins.

Outside, the night breeze was refreshing. Sherry was alone near the inn's doors, and very little light illuminated the dirt-covered streets. It was also eerily quiet. The farm animals had long since gone to sleep, and a large portion of the neighborhood was currently inside the inn. She involuntarily shivered and hugged herself as she stared out onto the night.

How could any of this be? How could anyone _not_ notice the dead body lying near the wrecked car? It wasn't as if their attacker could just get up and walk away...

Sherry covered her face with her hands. "Oh God." Of course he could. She was in Spain with _Wesker_, on secret business for _Umbrella_. Anything to do with Umbrella usually started with a hoarde of monsters and ended with an explosion of some kind. There was no reason for her to doubt the possibility of the robed monk with the crossbow to get up and walk away somewhere after death.

_But the arrows disappearing from the tire?_ Sherry had been traumatized for life by the abominations she had witnessed as a child, but even she knew that a task like that was a bit of a stretch for a zombie to accomplish. Eventually she came to the conclusion that she would have to go back to the site and see for herself.

"_Out of the question_," she muttered, "that's what Wesker would say." He wouldn't want her to tell Bitores Mendez anything about him or Umbrella either, but was the situation still about what Wesker wanted? He was no where to be found, and for all Sherry knew, she could end up alone in the middle of Spain for the rest of her life.

_How is that any different from before?_ a small, defiant part of her asked. _Before you were just in France. You're still alone, in any way you try to slice it._

Only now she had a gun, she realized. Couldn't she easily go back to the wreck now? Well, certainly not right this second in the dead of night, but perhaps she could go in the morning with someone to accompany her, like Luis or something. Yes, Luis seemed like he was more than capable of protecting her-,

Sherry's cheeks tightened. Why on earth was she thinking like that for? Thoroughly annoyed with herself, she rolled her blue eyes. Sure, Luis Sera had a certain rougish charm about him, but that certainly didn't mean she should just offer herself up as the poor damsel in distress already. If there had been anything she had learned from Claire Redfield it was that you couldn't wait around for people to rescue you. It was no way to survive.

That was what had decided it for her: the mere memory of a gentle yet resilient auburn-haired woman from Sherry's childhood. No, she wouldn't reveal anything about Umbrella to Mendez or the others, but she certainly wouldn't be a walking pawn of Umbrella's either – not while she was in such a sensitive situation. No, she would merely do what she needed to do to survive, whether she be Sherry Birkin or Andrea Strait.

So sit back and enjoy the excavation, she told herself. Don't go chasing missing bodies. 

Sherry turned towards the entrance to the inn, exhaling deeply through her nostrils. The door squealed loudly on it's hinges as she opened it, so loudly that it reminded of her vaguely of a piercing scream.

_CRUNCH!_

Sherry whipped back around; fast enough for her blond hair to slap at her face as she turned. Practically at her feet was another corpse, this one with a completely broken neck. While she certainly remembered seeing more gruesome sights, this familiar-looking woman lying dead before her held a special place of revulsion within her mind. The way her eyes were wide open in desperation, brown irises with tiny red veins about the corneas, remnants of tears still apparent at the corners of her eyelids... Sherry rushed to the nearest wall and let out a whimpering sob, instinctively hiding her face from the sight.

The door slammed open. "_NATALIA_!" Out rushed Carlos Reyes, his scream startling Sherry into looking back at the scene. Reyes knelt by the woman's body – the body of his wife – and began to scream in anguish.

She barely registered the commotion that came next. The guests of the inn rushing out after Reyes, crowding around him and the late Natalia Reyes. The Bella twins' voices stood out higher than the others, urging Carlos to calm down, pleading for the others to stay back. Sherry continued to hide against the wall, not watching as Bitores Mendez split the crowd apart so that he could proceed with his own investigation.

"It was suicide..." she heard Dr. Salvador say after a moment.

"¡No me digas eso!" Reyes pleaded. "¡Dios, no me quite mi Natalia tambien!"

"Reyes, go home, get some rest-,"

"¡_NO_!" was his outraged reply, making Sherry jump. "¡Mataron mi niño, y ahora mataron Natalia!"

Then there was a cacophony of protests from several others, all spoken in Spanish, some in agreement with Reyes, others not. They all spoke so quickly in their language that Sherry couldn't quite catch all of it. The villagers all had thier different opinions about what should be done, but one thing was quite clear: they were all angry. Even though by now Sherry had lost track of what was happening and could no longer translate for herself, she could tell that the majority were screaming for blood. There was no music playing.

"This was always a peaceful place!" one of the twins shouted. "Why is this happening now! Mendez, what do we do!?"

Everyone else repeated her question, but Bitores Mendez did not answer until they had all quieted. Sherry turned slightly from the wall to spare a glance at the tall bearded man. He towered over the other villagers, his menacing face easily a mask for what he could be really thinking. The others waited on bated breath, and Sherry could see a look of worry on Dr. Salvador's face, as if he were sure he would not like Mendez's next decision.

"We will pray," were his only words.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Before I give the translations, let me apologize if there are any spelling or grammar issues with the Spanish bits in this chapter. I'd like to boast that I speak the language fluently, but no one is perfect. Lately, my word processing program has been on the fritz and hasn't been spell checking quite right in _either_ language. I've been through the chapter more than several times (my main reason for why I haven't updated sooner), so hopefully there shouldn't be too many mistakes. 

_"Nada."_ - Nothing.

_"...mija."_ - Really, a conjunction for 'my daughter,' but often used as an affectionate term even outside of a mother-daughter conversation.

_"Buenas noches."_ - Good evening.

_"¡Que bueno__!"_ - Very good/how nice.

_"¡No me digas eso!" - _"Don't tell me that!" [or "Don't say that!"

_"¡Dios, no me quite mi Natalia tambien!"_ - God, don't take my Natalia too!

_"¡Mataron mi niño, y ahora mataron Natalia!" - _They killed my son, and now they've killed Natalia!

Again, I'm pretty sure that there's one or two phrases up there that need correction. Next chapter... Sherry Birkin visits a certain church.


	6. The Enlightened Ones

**Disclaimer:** Resident Evil and the characters associated with it belong to Capcom. Any supporting characters that make an appearance in this story that are not seen in the franchise belong entirely to me.

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Enlightened Ones**

* * *

Of course Sherry hadn't slept well that night. After the apparent suicide of Natalia Reyes, the village was alive with chaos - the kind Sherry had seen in Raccoon City just as the first signs of infection reached her neighborhood. Many in the village did not doubt that Natalia had indeed committed suicide, but that did nothing to quell their current fears. The rest of the night was filled with the sounds of hammering, shouting and midnight labor as the desperate and paranoid villagers of the pueblo built a perimeter of lumber around the sections of the town they felt were not protected enough.

She had been able to rest for about an hour before the soft rays of the sun peeked through the tiny space between the closed curtains in her room. Her eyes felt heavy but remained wide as they watched the window from her position in the bed; the covers drawn up past her neck so that she could quickly hide herself from whatever happened to enter. It was childish, yes. Hiding under the sheets would do nothing against a zombie, or Hunter, or a vicious Cerberus, but Sherry also clutched the handgun close to her as she tried unsuccessfully to sleep.

_I'm probably going to need more bullets than what I have,_ she thought tiredly. It wasn't the first time that she thought about survival preparation since last night. Sherry's memories of Claire desperately searching for more guns while she followed the woman around in the police station was a bold-faced reminder of her how ill-equipped she currently was for an emergency. Back then, there was always a need for more bullets, and while the police station stocked a healthy amount, there were also a lot of zombie cops, most of whom had already spent the last of their ammunition fending off the infected before turning as well. While Claire was able to gather many weapons, eventually it proved to be insufficient when they finally left the Raccoon City Police Department. There was just so much more that Claire had to shoot at.

The more Sherry remembered Claire, the more convinced she became that she would never be safe enough in the event of a crisis on the scale that had been Raccoon. Sherry even spent a few hours thinking about what possible escape routes she could use in case things got really desperate. For that she would need a map. If she couldn't get one in the village, she could go back to the wrecked car, where she was certain one was located in the glove compartment where she found the handgun. With any luck, the GPS might still be functional…

Eventually Sherry decided that she couldn't take lying in her bed any longer, waiting for something to happen. It was impossible to go to sleep. Though she'd only slept an hour, there was some kind of pent up energy she felt she needed to release, perhaps some kind of adrenaline that was prematurely building up. Bare foot and in her sleep clothes, she tried pacing about in her room for a few minutes, but the only thing she got out of that was the chill of the early morning hours seeping up her partially bare legs. It was a coldness Sherry used to associate with the holidays, so much so that she even remembered a lonely Christmas in a cabin up in the Arklay mountains with her parents. Her mother used the rare reprieve from work to catch up on sleep. Dad had spent the entire morning on the phone, arguing in hushed tones with someone. Probably Wesker, now that she thought about it. Sherry, being about seven or eight that Christmas, sat in front of the unlit fireplace in her pajamas, shivering while holding a still-wrapped gift in her lap.

Sherry threw her clothes on before allowing her mind to turn to imagining something much more troubling in regards to her parents. She would have traded Raccoon City for any number of Christmas's up in that cabin…

The only way she could effectively carry the gun on her was in the inside pocket of the only coat she brought with her. It was black, made of some faux suede and reached just past her hips when worn. She didn't have a holster, and keeping the gun in her bag like before would be too limiting for when she would need to take it out quickly. Hearing the wind from inside the room, she opted to wear a headband to keep her blond hair from blowing into her face. Apart from dressing, she also made sure to hide the laptop and carrying case under the bed before departing downstairs.

Maribel and Isabel were already there, cleaning up what was left behind of last night's festivities. Clearly, the twins hadn't slept either, as one of them still wore her hair pinned up, and did nothing about the strands that had fallen loose around her face. The other had dark circles under her eyes that made Sherry wonder what she herself looked like at the moment.

"I don't think we'll be able to have breakfast ready in time," Isabel murmured apologetically as she wiped down one of the tables. "La Misa is going to begin shortly, and we promised we would help with the charity afterwards."

"Mass?" Sherry questioned, and the twin nodded.

"Sí, today is Sunday."

Her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, having lost track of the weekend completely. "Is the church far?"

Isabel stopped wiping down the table and finally pushed away the big piece of hair that had fallen out of her bun. "No. If you want, we can show you."

Sherry agreed. After all, there was not much else she could do inside an inn that was full of exhausted guests. Though the twins were stubborn about letting her, Sherry took part in helping them with the morning cleaning before they left. It felt better to be involved in some kind of work than to wait and drift back into anxiety or worse.

As they walked to church, the Bella sisters made sure to give her a quick tour of the village, pointing out the houses belonging to friends and family. Aside from many shacks and barn houses, there were no special landmarks other than a lookout tower in the busiest section of the town. Sherry and the Bella sisters came across many of the barriers that the villagers had created late into the night before; tall wooden gates that separated each section of the town. They had also been purposely built to be difficult to open, the bottom of each gate digging into the ground rather than opening smoothly.

Thanks to these newly built gates, they were late to Mass. Sherry, not being very religious, opted to remain outside while the twins rushed through the doors to catch the ending. Sherry waited alone, sitting on the church's steps and barely listening to the murmuring lecture coming from inside. After a few moments, a young mother came out with a crying infant and sat beside Sherry to calm her baby down.

The small old church sat atop a hill alone with no other buildings or structures. A lonely graveyard lay some ways in front of it, inactive for the most part, save for a squawking crow on top of one of the tombstones. Sherry avoided looking at the graveyard and concentrated instead on the architecture around her. The church appeared to be far older than most of the houses in the village, certain features suggesting an age of at least a century or more. Buildings that old, especially churches and cathedrals, were not uncommon to Europe, so it didn't surprise her very much.

Then there was a sudden loud approval from the church audience – exclamations of agreement, 'ahhs,' and clapping. The woman sitting beside her sighed in frustration as her baby began to cry once again after having just been quieted. Sherry gave her a small sympathetic smile, which the young woman tried weakly to return.

"She never like noise," said the mother in her very thick accent. She wore a stain drape over head that was the traditional norm for many European Catholic women.

Sherry nodded and replied, "It's almost over though."

As if on cue, the doors behind them opened up, and she and the young mother stood quickly to move out of the way. With the opening of the doors came a blast of music, played either by a pipe organ or the recording of one. The priest who gave the Mass walked out first, with a line of robed monks following behind him, one of which who held up a tall staff bearing the sign of the cross. The man in front was elderly, dressed in the typical garb of a Catholic priest, and smiled benevolently at Sherry and the woman as he and the monks passed.

The crowd that spilled out of the church was hardly the neat single file line that had preceded them. The lonely quiet of the little churchyard was suddenly louder than what she heard in the inn last night. It seemed that the entire village managed to fit into the tiny church. Sherry wasn't exactly sure when it had happened, but as she moved further and further away from the growing population, somehow she found herself at the bottom of the hill by a storage shack, watching the animated crowd go by. The frantic and paranoid energy that kept her awake that night seemed considerably more relaxed. Some of the mothers actually looked relieved.

"They seem in much better spirits, no? I am glad."

Sherry jumped slightly at the sound of the voice next to her, but relaxed when she saw that it was just the elderly priest from before. He was waving and smiling pleasantly as people passed. Some of the villagers approached to shake his hand as well as offer their thanks. Some ways away, she found the Bella twins busy with incoming contributions for the charity they spoke of earlier.

"They could just be heavily caffeinated," Sherry answered, more to herself than to the older man. The priest heard her regardless and chuckled heartily.

"Perhaps, dear. Perhaps." His voice was also accented, but it wasn't nearly as thick as some of the other villagers. Sometimes, it didn't sound Spanish at all. "However, I could never compare coffee to the power of faith. That is why I have the twins handling the charity I have put together. The families that have lost their young ones need to know that we care. We support them in their times of need. Reyes needs it especially. He will not be at peace until he is assured that his wife and son's souls are at resting peacefully as well."

Sherry crossed her arms and knit her eyebrows together. "I thought people who committed suicide were supposed to be condemned in the Catholic faith?"

The priest nodded. "Yes, you are right. It is… deplorable when someone takes a life, even if it is their own, but Carlos Reyes is convinced that Natalia did not throw herself from the inn. There are others who think so as well. She did not leave a note. Until we are absolutely sure, we cannot yet give her the proper sending. Poor Natalia's soul hangs in a place between this world and the next."

Sherry wasn't sure what to think of that. She never really thought about the human soul, not when both of her parents had been scientists with no real personal reasons to replace virology with theology. Suddenly she wondered what became of the souls of the infected? Those thousands of people in Raccoon City? If people really had souls, what happened to them when they became the undead? If she were to visit the remains of her birthplace now, what would she find? Would Raccoon City be haunted? Though she had seen the dead walk in her lifetime, never once had she thought about ghosts or hauntings. When it came to the afterlife, or at least a dead existence that didn't involve being a zombie, Sherry knew next to nothing. For some reason that scared her.

It dawned on her then that there was no possible way she could've ever approached her parents about the subject when they had been alive, even if she wanted to. Life and death for them had been black and white – and gray, for when one was infected with the T-virus. She imagined that they would have called her childish and immature for asking.

_Obviously, I still have a lot of growing up to do_, she thought bitterly, glaring at nothing in particular. Occasionally there were moments like these, when thinking about her parents only made her angry rather than sad.

She glanced back at the priest, who had been giving console to a dejected looking Carlos Reyes. The widowed husband looked like he hadn't slept in ages, and the look in his tired eyes suggested that he would be happier to have joined his wife and child, wherever they were now. Sherry's momentary anger at what her parents might have said to her when she was only twelve was replaced by immense pity for the man as the priest sent Reyes off with a reassuring pat on the depressed man's back.

"I apologize dear child," the priest said to her. "Where are my manners? I haven't bothered to introduce myself." He took her hand and shook it enthusiastically. "I am Padré Saddler."

"Sher-," she almost uttered, not thinking. "Andrea Strait. Pleasure to meet you."

"Yes, I have heard of the young student joining the excavation. I must say I am impressed by your ambition."

Sherry was surprised by that, and did her best not to show it. She never really described herself as ambitious or tenacious, but she supposed that Andrea Strait must come off that way to some people.

"Well, thank you," she said politely, not knowing how else to respond. Should she start bragging about her accomplishments? Where was the fine line between Sherry-the-traumatized-Raccoon-City-survivor, and Andrea-the-determined-student-with-the-4.5-GPA?

"Ah, Mendez," Saddler suddenly said, sounding slightly amused. Sherry turned and felt the color drain from her face at the sight of the approaching village chief. He looked as menacing as he had last night.

Sherry quietly took some steps back, hoping a conversation started by Saddler would give her the chance she needed to escape, but Mendez' dark eyes immediately fell upon her, freezing her in her place. "You must tell me about your guide."

Sherry didn't breathe. Why was this man so interested in Wesker? It wasn't like he was the one going around killing children-,

_- don't even go there,_ she thought, her mind in half-panic when other possibilities briefly sprang up. Things were complicated as it was without having to contemplate Albert Wesker's secret agenda.

Mendez's glare was boring into her, his long shadow over her suddenly oppressive. She jumped as she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, but they were only Saddler's.

"Oh, Bitores," he said with a chuckle, "you are quite the character. You protect our community without a fault, yes, but she is only a child after all; frightened over this entire ordeal. Do not worry Andrea," he reassured her as she turned to face him with wary eyes. "Mendez is concerned that these killers have found your friend and are thus targeting you as well. We wouldn't want an international incident to be caused now, would we?"

Sherry looked away from him. It was Mendez who denied that their car had been attacked in the first place. He only seemed interested in Wesker. If she had to start naming suspects, Sherry's first pick would be the Rasputin look-alike.

"I will talk to her, Mendez," Saddler declared. "What young Andrea needs now is safety and reassurance. It is with our faith that we will find her guide and it is the Lord in Heaven that will bring justice to the killers."

Mendez's scowl seemed to deepen, but he did not object. "As you wish, Padré." Sherry let Saddler lead her back to the church as the village chief followed the remaining crowd down the road back to town.

Inside the church was even smaller than how it appeared on the outside. It was plain, with only enough rows of pews to seat maybe half the village. The others would have been forced to stand in the corridors and in front of the entrance. The place of worship had a simple interior design, with only a few stained glass windows and a minimally decorated altar. For the most part, there was no one else inside.

Saddler sat with her in the pew nearest the exit. "It is a shame that you have had to visit our peaceful home during such trying times."

"You don't have to apologize for it," Sherry replied. "Trouble just seems to follow me around."

Saddler cocked his head slightly in inquiry. "How so?"

Sherry blinked, almost stunned. She wasn't sure what possessed her to say that, as she had no intention to tell anyone in the village about Raccoon. With everything that was happening, however, she felt the need to talk to someone.

"Well, in Florence I was pickpocketed during the first day of my abroad program there. The bag that was stolen from me happened to have my research paper inside and I had to spend an entire day begging my professor to give me an extension on the due date." Sherry was surprised at how easily the lies seemed to form, but she based the story on Leon's experience in Raccoon City, remembering that it had been his first day on the force as a police officer.

Then she recalled hearing years ago about how Umbrella imprisoned Claire Redfield for some time for infiltrating one of their bases. "When I was in Egypt, the dig site collapsed around me and I was trapped for hours on end in the dark with only some old mummies to keep me company."

"And now on your third trip you are attacked during your commute," Saddler remarked.

"Mendez doesn't seem to believe we were attacked," Sherry told him, frowning.

"Chief Mendez goes only by the evidence he has acquired, basing his decisions upon it as well. Having survived the tumultuous civil wars decades ago, he does all that he possibly can to protect our people," explained Saddler. "That was how he lost his eye. He was a resistance fighter in opposition against Franco."

Sherry found herself lost in thought, the information she just learned causing her to automatically turn the pages inside of her head. Names and dates crossed her thoughts, and for some moments her mind was only a history textbook. If Saddler was correct, Mendez was in opposition of the fascist leader that ruled Spain while the rest of civilization was engaged in the Second World War.

"When I woke up from the crash," Sherry slowly admitted, "there was a dead body near the car. It wasn't my guide's."

Saddler looked at her seriously, his face seeming a bit older than a moment ago. "You didn't mention this to Mendez," he stated, not as a question.

Sherry shook her head. "I didn't know what to think at the time. When Mendez told me they didn't find anything, not even the arrows that had been shot into the tires, I wasn't sure who to trust."

Saddler's smile was comforting. "You can always trust in the Lord, my child."

Her smile was rueful. As Sherry reached into her coat pocket, she explained, "There was a note on him, written in Latin. It talked about sacrificing tourists that came near the area. My guess is that they're sacrificing the children as well."

Saddler's expression was strangely unreadable, but he said nothing. Sherry hesitantly pulled her hand out of her coat pocket, this time gripping the hand-sized talisman she found on the robed man the day before. She left the note itself back at the inn with her things.

The priest took it from her, his hands carrying it with extreme delicacy as he studied the strange symbol. Sherry did not miss the look of recognition that crossed his eyes.

"I… did not think they still existed…" he murmured, more to himself. He had a faraway look that made it seem that he had forgotten that Sherry was there at all.

"What is it?" Sherry asked.

Saddler blinked and looked at Sherry again, back in the present. "This is very ancient, Andrea. _Los Illuminados_."

Sherry raised an eyebrow. "The Illuminati?" Suddenly she was beginning to feel very skeptical. Even though her whole life was centered around a real living conspiracy, secret societies were a little too James Bond for her liking.

Saddler chuckled. "I know what you are thinking, child. Do not concern yourself over the Hollywood movies. I do not speak of the society often seen in works of fiction. The Enlightened Ones that I know of were once part of the Church. They were a small yet influential organization that was concerned with preserving the Word of God. In your studies you must have certainly come across the conflicts brought about by the Reformation, correct?"

Sherry nodded. Martin Luther. The Holy Roman Empire. King Henry VIII separating England from the Catholic Church… Saddler was taking her back to the Renaissance. Spain had been one of the great world superpowers at that time.

"Los Illuminados believed that the Protestants were corrupting the Word for their own personal and political reasons. The group did not engage in direct conflict, but as a result, their influence waned over several decades until the end of the era. With the wars between the faiths across all of Europe, they were eventually forgotten, even by the Church."

Sherry glared. "Was it in their usual practice to sacrifice children?"

Saddler shook his head slowly. "I really am not sure. I only know what I know because they are the ones who built this church. Their insignia is on this building, and it marks some of the older graves outside. The Salazar family may also have been old enough… in fact, the excavation may be the perfect opportunity to learn more about what really happened."

She stood from the bench. Suddenly, Sherry couldn't wait to start digging.

* * *

Osmund Saddler stood outside in the churchyard, watching the girl leave with Luis Sera, who had come to ask her to join him for lunch with his cousins, the twins. Saddler was pleased with the information he had managed to wean from the young American. Now Bitores Mendez stood beside him, anxious for that same information.

"The man is a liability," said Saddler. He handed Mendez the Los Illuminados talisman that young Andrea had discovered. "If a child was able to find this…"

"…then her guide could destroy everything," Mendez finished for him. "Whoever he is…"

"Indeed," Saddler remarked, scowling.

"And the girl?"

Saddler's smile was enigmatic. "She can read the dead tongue, which may pose a problem, but as long as I have her trust, we have no need to worry."

"Ramon is being reluctant again," Mendez growled. "He wishes to delay the excavation, due to the incident."

"Leave Salazar to me," Saddler said confidently. "It won't matter once I remind him what his entire family owes us. For now, find the man, before any _more_ of our brothers turn up dead before the initial awakening."

Mendez departed, walking away from the church with new purpose. Neither of the two Europeans noticed the figure crouched on the roof of the church, and as Saddler entered the building, Andrea's guide pushed his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose.

* * *

**Author's Note:** That update took longer than I had originally intended, but for some reason Saddler's introduction was giving me difficulty. I probably had to rewrite this chapter like three or four times, and even now I'm only partially satisfied with it. Hope you all enjoyed it. Next chapter: Sherry intends to dig up information on the Los Illuminados as she and the other researcers (Luis Sera and Gabriel Marquez) are taken to a castle...

And now, for some shameless self-advertisement: For those of you who might be interested in a Resident Evil roleplay forum, check out the link on my profile!


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